


Lullabye: Tales of Izzy Watson & The Holmes Twins

by MizJoely



Series: The Joys (and Pitfalls) of Parenthood [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I like Isabelle for Baby Watson's Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 12,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles based on prompts about Sherlock and Baby Watson as well as Hooper-Holmes twins Edmund and Scarlett. Warstan and Sherlolly!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lullabye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble based on this tumblr prompt: Imagine Sherlock Holmes composing a lullaby for Baby Watson.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Composing, Mycroft, isn't it obvious?"

"Hmm, I suppose, but it it isn't really your area, is it, such a sentimental ditty?"

"It's for a baby, Mycroft, I believe sentiment is an unavoidable component."

"Children are horrid, smelly little larvae, brother dear, until they reach the age of reason…and even then they….urk!"

Mycroft stopped speaking, not because he had nothing further to say, but because his younger brother had calmly reached down and thrown a pillow at his face. Mycroft batted the offending item away and shot Sherlock a disdainful look. "Fine, I'm sure your goddaughter will be brilliant once she learns to do more than take in sustenance and poop herself."

Sherlock's smile was far softer than normal as he picked up his violin and bow and began playing again. "Yes, she will, Mycroft; if you managed it, then I'm sure Isabelle will have no problems."

Then he lost himself in the tune he was composing, utterly ignoring his brother's sputtered protests.


	2. Future Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Will you do more Sherlock and Baby Watson bonding fics? I just love how much your Sherlock loves her. ^_^

"Aww, she’s absolutely adorable, Sherlock!"

He sniffed and cuddled his goddaughter closer. “Of course she is, Mrs. Hudson, have you not seen her parents? Thankfully she was blessed with Mary’s eyes and haircolor, but her chin is quite definitely John’s. Don’t you agree, Molly?”

His girlfriend smiled and held out a finger for Isabelle to grasp, giggling as the baby lifted it to her mouth and gummed it. “Oh, sweetie, you are going to be spoiled rotten by Uncle Sherlock, aren’t you? Yes you are!”

He rolled his eyes and scowled at her, although with less force than usual. “I am not her uncle, Molly, I’m her godfather,” he reminded her with a sound very like a sniff. Molly and Mrs. Hudson exchanged tolerant grins as he gazed down at Isabelle, who was still gumming Molly’s finger, her big blue eyes gazing up at him solemnly. “Just as you are her godmother. I take my responsibilities toward her seriously, which means I have no intentions of ever ‘spoiling’ her. When she accompanies me on her first case…”

"Oh, Sherlock, you can’t mean to tell me you’re already planning on bringing this sweet little darling to a murder scene!" Mrs. Hudson protested, clucking her tongue and shaking her head.

It was Molly and Sherlock’s turn to exchange tolerant glances; how, they both wondered, would Mrs. Hudson react if they told her that Mary had already given permission for her daughter to come along with Daddy and her godfather on cases below a 5…but only after she was old enough to walk and talk?


	3. Diagnosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Baby Watson gets sick and Sherlock tries to diagnose her.

"Scarlet fever."

John sighed and palmed his face. “No, Sherlock, I already told you, she doesn’t have the right symptoms for scarlet fever. Mary and I are taking Isabelle to the paediatrician in the morning, so please for the love of God take Molly and go back home. We can handle it.”

Sherlock had dragged Molly out of bed and over to the Watson home after John had casually mentioned, during the course of a conversation about a case, that Isabelle was running a fever.

Sherlock scowled at his friend and held his goddaughter closer to his chest in a protective motion. “I’m telling you it’s scarlet fever, John, and you need to get her on antibiotics as soon as possible. Waiting until the morning is a ridiculous waste of time. Why make Izzy suffer for one second longer than she has to? Yes, the paracetamol is holding the fever down, but the other sym…what?” he asked, looking around in puzzlement as he realized the other adults in the room were staring at him.

"You called her ‘Izzy’, Sherlock," Molly explained from her seat on the sofa next to Mary. The two of them wore matching grins. "You said nicknames were ridiculous and explained to us in great detail why you weren’t going to ever use one, and yet just now you called your goddaughter ‘Izzy’ instead of Isabelle."

Sherlock looked flustered, then straightened his posture and looked down his nose at the three grinning — yes, John had joined in the idiotic smirk brigade — people sharing the room. “Regardless of what I call her, my goddaughter is in need of proper medication. Considering that I am the only non-medical professional in this room, I am frankly astonished that I am also the only one exhibiting any measure of concern for Iz…Isabelle’s condition.” Nose in the air, he marched out of the living room and into the kitchen.

Mary, John and Molly exchanged glances, then burst into laughter. A half hour later Sherlock finally deigned to rejoin them, silently showing John and Mary the rosy red rash spread across Isabelle’s tiny chest. Of course he was right, the great git, John thought sourly as he threw on his coat and readied the car for the trip the A&E.

But it wouldn’t surprise him at all if Izzy had developed the rash just to prove her beloved godfather right.


	4. Colic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From MorbidbyDefault on ff.net: Oh my gosh! I love it! Okay…story idea? Little Isabelle is Colicky, and Sherlock is the one babysitting her at the time, so he turns to Molly for help because he doesn’t know what to do and is super worried and adorably out of his element. Just an idea, if you wanted more for this adorable set.
> 
> Two sick Baby Isabelle prompts in a row, poor little thing! Well, here goes…

"Sherlock? You sounded worried when you left the message, so I came as soon as I got out of work. What’s wrong?" Molly dropped her handbag on the coffee table and hurried over to where her boyfriend was sitting in his chair, cuddling baby Isabelle to his chest. The six-month-old was sleeping peacefully, her little rosebud mouth partially open and her long, dark blonde lashes fluttering now and then.

It was an adorable sight, or would have been if not for the unhappy frown on Sherlock’s face. “I need you to take her from me, Molly, very carefully, and be sure to keep the front of her body, especially her abdomen, snugly against you,” he instructed.

Molly obediently held her arms out, wondering what was wrong, but Sherlock made no move to release his sleeping bundle. “Um, Sherlock, I can’t take her if you don’t give her to me.”

Sherlock’s scowl deepened. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do your best to extricate her, Molly, as I am currently unable to move my arms.”

The pathologist felt her eyebrows raising. “Really? What happened?”

"I left that message for you over an hour ago, Molly, and I’ve been holding Isabelle — who appears to have developed a rather nasty case of colic conveniently when her parents are both out of town, I might add — ever since. It's the only thing I can do to keep her from screaming in pain."

"So your arms have cramped up, have they?" Molly asked, sympathy and an inappropriate urge to giggle fighting for dominance on her lips. She managed to settle for a sympathetic smile — ever one to believe in the art of compromise! — before moving closer and literally prying Izzy from her godfather’s arms. The baby squirmed and made a discontented sound, but thankfully remained asleep during the exchange. Molly soon found herself comfortably ensconced in the corner of the sofa, snuggling her goddaughter to her chest while her disgruntled boyfriend rose stiffly to his feet and began the uncomfortable process of uncramping his arms.

As soon as he was able to move freely, Molly watched him grab his laptop, set it on the desk, and immediately begin scanning the internet for suggestions on how to soothe a colicky baby.

"Oh, Izzy," Molly murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s downy blonde hair, "everyone thought I would be the one to domesticate Sherlock, but it looks like you’ve beaten me to the punch, baby girl." She gave her head another soft kiss before whispering, "Remind me to thank you when you’re older."


	5. Hobbit Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: To make up for sick Baby Watson twice in row. Baby Watson loves it when her Godfather reads to her. Her favorite story is "The Hobbit" .
> 
> Um, this got a bit more Sherlolly this time. Sorry-not-sorry!

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

Molly leaned against the door jamb, smiling fondly at the sight — and almost as good, sound — of Sherock reading aloud to their goddaughter from her favorite book. He’d read it to her countless times over the past year, and it never failed to soothe her even at her crankiest. Every time the pair of them babysat, she would toddle over to the bookshelf and tug out the dog-eared paperback, carry it over to Sherlock, and attempt to clamber into his lap without putting the beloved story down. It was adorably domestic, and Molly knew Sherlock enjoyed it even if all he did was complain loudly that Isabelle wouldn’t let him read anything else to her.

As Sherlock continued on with the adventures of Bilbo Baggins and his unexpected party — muttering comments about him being just about Isabelle’s father’s height — Molly turned and made her ungainly way to the kitchen, where she’d been about to put on the kettle for tea before being distracted by her fiance’s lovely voice. She rubbed a soothing hand across her greatly expanded stomach as one of the twins chose that moment to kick her.

"Hush, lovies, Daddy will be reading that story to you two soon enough," she murmured. As if in response to her voice, the restless movement stopped, and she sighed happily. She loved being a godmother and she looked forward to being a real mother as well, and many, many years of listening to Sherlock read "The Hobbit" aloud.

Even if he never would stop making snide comments about John’s supposed resemblance to the main character.


	6. Hobbit Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _anonymous asked: Baby Watson loves it when her godfather reads to her. Her favorite is " The Hobbit" Sherlock does a fantastic Smaug.;-)_

"Do the voice again, Uncle Sherlock!"

"Yeah, Daddy, do the boice!"

"Please, Daddy, the boice! Dwagon!"

Sherlock looked helplessly at the three eager faces staring up at him, then over at his wife, who merely grinned and then had the temerity to giggle. “Sorry, Sherlock, you’re the one who decided to make the dragon all growly. You can’t blame them for loving it!”

Then his wife had the infernal nerve to turn and leave him alone with the three small beggars, who had resorted to physically tugging at his dressing gown in order to catch his attention. His goddaughter, three-year-old Isabelle Watson, batted her baby blues at him, while his own eighteen-month-old twins, Scarlett and Edmund, babbled incomprehensibly and simultaneously.

Knowing when he was defeated — a feeling he’d never owned up to until becoming first a godfather and then a parent — Sherlock sighed and flopped down in his chair, flipping a hand toward the bookshelf. “You know where it is, Isabelle,” he said, and his goddaughter, chortling happily, scampered off to collect the well-worn paperback while Scarlett and Edmund clambered up onto his lap.  
Never again, he vowed, would he ever read a story in anything but his everyday voice.


	7. Ice Cream

_tumblr anonymous asked: Izzy has vanilla ice cream with her godfather. Her treat.^_^_

"Sherlock! What are you doing?"

He gave his girlfriend a quizzical look. “Feeding Isabelle ice cream, Molly, what does it look like I’m doing?”

"But John and Mary don’t want her having sugar yet! For heaven’s sake, Sherlock, she’s only eight months old!"

He rolled his eyes and fed the eager baby another tiny spoonful of the icy treat. “It’s just vanilla, Molly. All natural ingredients. And it’s hardly going to affect her teeth, since she doesn’t have that many yet.”

Molly huffed and snatched the bowl away from him before he could stop her.”No more, Sherlock, you spoil her enough as it is!”

He gave Molly a sideways glance and a smirk that told her he had deduced something. “What?” she asked, feeling defensive. While she tried to figure out what it was he was about to tell her, she stuck a finger in the ice cream and scooped up a hefty amount, then popped it in her mouth. Isabelle watched, her big blue eyes wide and a happy grin on her (still mostly toothless) mouth.

"You hate vanilla ice cream," Sherlock pronounced, giving Isabelle an equally wide grin and bopping her on the nose. "You owe me a fiver, Izzy. I told you Aunt Molly was pregnant!"

Baby Watson watched solemnly from her high chair as Sherlock hurried over to pick Molly up from where she’d collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. Her wrinkled nose seemed to say, ‘Nice job, Uncle Sherlock, you should know better!’


	8. Birthday

_Tumblr anonymous asked: Baby Watson's Birthday! ^_^_

"She’s old enough now, I assume?"

Molly gave Sherlock a quizzical glance. “Old enough for what?”

Sherlock answering grin was sly. “Ice cream. It’s her first birthday, surely John and Mary can’t object to ice cream today of all days!”

Molly sighed and swatted him lightly on the arm. “You’ll never forget that whole ice cream thing, will you.”

"Nope," Sherlock replied, popping the "p" and pulling her into a one-armed side-hug (the other arm being occupied by their goddaughter). "How could I possibly forget the day we confirmed that we’re going to be parents ourselves?"

"Of twins," Molly reminded him, while Izzy bounced excitedly and crowed, "Babeez! Babeez!"

Sherlock gave Izzy a mock scowl. “There’s no need for you to be so excited, Isabelle Watson, they’re going to be my and Molly’s babies, not yours.”

Instantly the sunny smile vanished from her face; Izzy’s eyes clouded up and fat tears began rolling down her cheeks as she broke into an unhappy wail. As Sherlock tried to calm her, John came hurrying up. As soon as she saw her father, Izzy toppled into his waiting arms, still crying loudly.

"Nice one, Sherlock, making Baby cry on her birthday," John said angrily. He bounced his daughter and snuggled her close. "Shh, honey, what’s wrong?’

Izzy turned and pointed directly at Molly’s barely-there four-months baby bump. “My babeez!” she wailed. “Unca Lock said no! MY BABEEZ!” she screeched, all three grown-up wincing at the volume she managed in spite of her tiny size.

As John carried her out of the living room in search of Mary, the only one who could calm her down when she got overworked like this (shooting a very dirty look at his former flatmate as he did so), Molly sighed and rested her head against Sherlock’s shoulder. “Oh, Sherlock, you really are going to have to learn to share.”

"But they ARE our babies," he mumbled in protest.

Molly got up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “And Isabelle is John and Mary’s baby, but they share her with you, you daft man. Fair is fair.” Then she, too, left the room, following the sound of Izzy’s wails to see if there was anything she could do to help, leaving Sherlock to shake his head and wonder when, exactly, his life had so entirely left his control.


	9. Jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making Baby Watson cry two stories in a row! :(

_anonymous asked: How about Izzy is jealous of the Sherlolly child because s/he will take away her Uncle Sherlock? Of course she is reassured that just because a baby is here doesn't mean Sherlock doesn't adore his Izzy._

The day Scarlett and Edmund came home from hospital, John and Mary brought Isabelle to meet them. She was nearly 18 months old now and had been impatient for her “babeez” to arrive. Now that they were here, however, she was less than impressed. Especially since John held her up to see them just as Edmund filled his diaper.

Izzy leaned back in her daddy’s arms and wrinkled her little nose. “Ewwww,” she said. “Babeez smell.”

Mary volunteered to take care of the problem while Sherlock lifted Scarlett into his arms and carried her into the living room to allow his goddaughter a better look at the twin who hadn’t chosen the moment guests arrived to demonstrate her ability to fill a diaper. Izzy sat on John’s lap and stared down at the tiny figure cradled so protectively in her father’s arms. Then she looked up at Sherlock, who was looking down at Scarlett with a tender smile on his face, and promptly burst into tears.

"Oh, Baby, what’s wrong?" John asked as she buried her face in the crook of his neck and clutched desperately at his jumper.

"Babeez take my Lock away!" Izzy howled. "Gif em back, Unca Lock! You mine!" She looked beseechingly at him, her blue eyes large and watery, and he couldn’t help smiling at the turnaround from her birthday five months earlier.

Careful not to jostle Scarlett too much (who thankfully had not joined in when Izzy started crying), he switched her over to John and took his goddaughter into his arms, hugging her tightly. “Don’t worry, Izzy,” he whispered as she snuffled damply against his shoulder. “There’s more than enough of me to go around, I promise.” Then he kissed the top of her head and said even more quietly, “It took me a long time to realize this, Izzy, but love only grows the more you give.”

She didn’t look as if she knew quite what he meant, so he translated, “I love my Izzy. Never doubt me. Does Unca Lock lie?” She shook her head. “No, I don’t.” John made a sound suspicously like a snort at that statement, causing Sherlock to modify it a bit: ”Not to you, Isabelle Elaine Waton. So when I say I love the babies and I love you just as much, you have to believe me. Right?”

Izzy nodded solemnly. “Wight,” she warbled, tears forgotten as she gave Sherlock a noisy wet baby kiss on the cheek.

He pulled a face but endured, just as he endured John’s muttered, “Wish I had a hand free to take a picture.”

A flash of light caught their attention, and they both looked up in time to see Molly smirking, her phone still held out. “Don’t worry, John, I got it!”

And she giggled all the way back to the kitchen, where she proceeded to show it to a beaming Mary


	10. First Case Part 1

_Tumblr anon: Baby Watson’s First Case_

It was a bright, cheerful red. Not pink, not yellow; there were no cartoon characters on it, or flowers, or cute baby animals.

It was red. Solid, blindingly bright, red.

"You’ll never lose track of it," Molly pronounced as the gift was unwrapped.

Mary blinked. “True enough.” She seemed mesemerized by the small case Sherlock had bought for Izzy’s second birthday.

She and Molly both looked carefully to see what the toddler in question thought of the unusual gift; she was staring just as hard as her mother and Aunt Molly had been, but the expression on her face was one of pure joy as she turned and hurled herself into ‘Unca Lock’s’ arms. “Thank you! she shrieked at the top of her lungs, causing every adult in the room — John, Mary, Sherlock and Molly — to wince. Molly spared a worried glance at the baby monitor, relieved when not even a peep came out to indicate Izzy had woken the napping twins.

Afterwards, when she and Sherlock had said good-bye to the Watsons, she gave her husband a quizzical look. “Why a suitcase, Sherlock? John and Mary insist they have no plans to travel anytime soon.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? She’s outgrowing the need for a diaper bag, and spends at least three nigths a month here, so she needs a case to keep her belongings in.”

"And why the bright red?" Molly asked, knowing there had to be more to it than that.

Sherlock gave her a sheepish look before pulling her to him for a warm hug. “Well,” he mumbled, “she might have seen it at Harrods when I took her there the other day.”

Molly pulled back and gave him a suspicious look. “The other day? When you volunteered to take Izzy for a walk to the park? You went to Harrods? Why?”

The sheepish look turned entirely guilty and Molly thought she heard him say someting about the case only being a two before she swatted him on the arm and proceeded to harrangue him for taking Izzy on a case without John as he’d long since promised.

Mary and John were going to get an earful just as soon as she saw them again…and then Sherlock would be the one getting the earful.

Yes, Izzy was walking and talking, but honestly, she was only half-way potty trained!!


	11. First Case Part 2

_(Follow up to "First Case" and loosely based on this tumblr prompt: Izzy's first case...She seems to have learned a lot from her godfather.)_

"Sherlock."

"Hmm?"

"You took my daughter on a case."

"It was barely a…"

"I don't care what it bloody was!" John roared into the phone. "You know the deal, and you broke it. You know what that means."

Silence on the other end of the phone for a long moment, then a quiet, tentative, "No babysitting for a month?"

"Two months," John corrected him grimly. "Mary says she'll be fully potty trained by then, Mrs. Hudson agrees, so after that maybe…just maybe…you'll be trusted with her again."

"Well, it doesn't seem fair to punish Molly for my mistake," Sherlock said cajolingly, but John was having none of it.

"Don't you dare try and use your wufe to work your way around this, William Sherlock Scott Holmes," John declared, and by the use of his full name Sherlock knew he wasn't going to win this one. Sometimes he regretted sharing it with John; he should have left it at Molly and his brother and parents being the only holders of that secret. "And don't think Mary and I won't see right through it if you send her round to offer to watch Izzy for a few hours, either. God," he muttered with a huff, "it's bad enough Izzy's already trying your methods…"

"She is?" Sherlock's ears perked up at that statement, and he completely ignored the irritation in John's voice as he asked eagerly, "What? What's she trying? She's a natural at this, John, I told you she would be. People don't look twice a man carrying a baby; who would be daft enough to follow someone under those circumstances? And Izzy, oh you should have seen her, John! Smiling and giggling and generally charming anyone we met…"

He fell silent as soon as he realized his mistake. "Uh, that is, what I meant to say was, that the next time, when you go along with us — every other time in future, that is, since I clearly will never take her along on a case without you even if it's only a one…"

"Yeah," came John's exasperated voice from the other side of the line. "You got that right, mate." But Sherlock heard the affection as well as the less pleasant emotions and knew that his two months was more likely to be a month…possibly even less if Molly could talk Mary round.

Izzy, he knew, would be on his side. Unca Lock would be left in charge of her again soon enough, and both of them would continue to learn from one another. The sooner, he concluded, the better.

He smiled and hung up the phone, not noticing that John was still talking as he did so. "Molly!" he called out, looking vaguely around the empty living room. "Fancy a trip to John and Mary's for a visit?"


	12. Teasing

(FF review of "Ice Cream" by Nightstar Phoenix): And thank you, Baby Watson, for channeling everyone's reaction to the King of Tact XD (Oh she is gonna be a JOY in her teen years. - I hope you caught that sarcasm.) If you need ideas, I'd love to see Sherlock smart off to the Scotland Yarders after they tease him about spoiling Izzy :D You do a great job with this!

 

"She can't understand you, you do know that, right? I mean, she's only six months old, Sherlock."

The consulting detective grimaced at Lestrade's teasing words and shifted Isabelle into a more comfortable position on his left him. "Ignore him," he instructed the baby, who was looking wide-eyed around the DI's office. "Graham..."

"Greg," came the disgruntled correction.

"Greg," Sherlock continue smoothly as he continued speaking the infant, who seemed enraptured by his words, her eyes wide and gazing straight into his, "is under the mistaken impression that you will retain nothing of what I say to you now, when studies have shown..."

"Why the Watsons ever let you out of their sight with their baby I will never understand," came the exasperated tones of Sally Donovan from the office door. "Honestly, Greg, a baby? Here? With HIM?" She'd stopped calling Sherlock 'Freak' ever since his faked suicide, but she still held no great love for the man and what she termed his crime scene theatrics...although she'd grudgingly apologized to him for inadvertantly helping Moriarty destroy his reputation. 

Sherlock sniffed and looked down his nose at Sally, who (for the record) looked entirely unimpressed. "As I was just explaning to Gray..."

"Greg!"

"To GREG, here, Isabelle will be assisting me with cases when she's older, and needs to become comfortable even in the most insalubrious environments. Starting here."

His haughty demeanor was promptly destroyed, however, by the appearance of his girlfriend in the doorway, holding aloft a small bag of the sugar free ice lollies Mary had deemed acceptable for the teething infant to have. "Got em, Sherlock! Wow, it took forever to find this brand, had to go to three different shops, I hope you know! And these cost twice as much as the regular ones...Oh, Hi!" she added, belatedly taking in the sight of Donovan and Lestrade. 

The two detectives turned to Sherlock with raised eyebrows and identical grins. "Spoiling her already, are you?" Sally asked. "Gotta have her special lollies, the regular ones aren't good enough for her?"

Lestrade chose to join in the fun, smirking as he added, "Yeah, I mean, nothing but the best for Sherlock Holmes' goddaughter, right?"

Without missing a beat, Sherlock replied, "At least you can make an elementary deduction now. Good to know Isabelle is as good at teaching basic detective skills as she is at, oh, everything else she does. And if you're very lucky," he added, striding to the door and collecting both his girlfriend and the bag of lollies, "maybe one day you'll even be as good at it as she is."


	13. Hiding

Review/prompt by MorbidbyDefault (ff.net): lol aww! Great chapters, love. Hm...heard a story from my boss about his oldest (about Izzy's age) getting used to their newest baby. Prompt: Izzy doesn't like having to fight babies for attention, and decides to try and hide them.

 

"All right, Izzy, where are they?"

"Where who, Unca Lock?"

"You know exactly who I mean. Do you want to make Aunt Molly sad?"

Isabelle Watson, aged two, shook her head. "No Aunt Molly sad!"

Sherlock dropped to his haunches and looked his goddaughter straight in the eyes. "Then be a good girl and tell me where you hid them. If we put them back right now, before Aunt Molly and Mummy and Daddy get back from the shops, I promise not to tell what you did."

Izzy's eyes shifted to the right, exactly where Sherlock knew she would look, and he gave her a small smile as he said, "Thank you, Izzy. Now, no more hiding the babies, all right? I already told you I love you no matter what." He rose to his feet and opened the wardrobe door, where he found his six month old twins still sleeping peacefully, curled up on the blankets from their now-open – and empty – cot. It was remarkable that Isabelle had been able to figure out the mechanism to lower the side, but of course she was of superior intelligence.

“Unca Lock no lie Izzy?”

As he carefully lifted Scarlett into his arms, Sherlock made sure to look his goddaughter right in her anxious blue eyes. “Unca Lock no lie Izzy,” he affirmed solemnly, privately relieved that none of the other adults were around to hear him speaking baby talk. But that wasn’t a time to correct Isabelle’s grammar, it was a time to reassure her that he still loved her, even if the babies took up a great deal of his time and attention now. He laid Scarlett down, then fetched the noisily snoring Edmund and laid him down as well and lifted the side of the cot, carefully locking it back in place.

Making a mental note to find a way to secure it that Isabelle couldn’t figure out, he lifted the toddler into his arms and carried her out of the room.

When John, Mary and Molly returned from their trip to the shops – and to fetch dinner – they found a dark, quiet flat, with the twins sleeping in their cot and Isabelle snuggled in Sherlock’s arms on the sofa.


	14. Zoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Sherlock and Mary taking Baby Watson to aquarium and she loves the otters because they remind her of "Uncle Sherlock" She says this out loud. Molly giggles and Sherlock protests. Molly giggles harder.

Scarlett and Edmund were supremely unimpressed with the zoo, but Isabelle was bouncing with excitement. She had just turned three and the twins were almost two, so the excursion had been planned as birthday outing for both the Holmes and the Watson families to enjoy. Unfortunately an emergency at the clinic had kept John and Mary from joining them, but Molly and Sherlock had assured their friends that it would be no trouble to take the three toddlers by themselves.

Luckily Scarlett and Edmund’s boredom had resulted in them falling asleep in their double-stroller, so that reassurance actually turned out to be true.

They had made their way from exhibit to exhibit in relative peace, with Izzy holding tightly to Unca Lock’s hand while Auntie Molly maneuvered the stroller with her usual expertise. The five of them came to a stop in front of the otter exhibit, Izzy begging Unca Lock to pick her up so she could see better. The enclosure was half aquarium, and they had prime positions in front of the clear glass tank where half a dozen otters were currently cavorting.

Izzy chuckled and clapped her hands, pointing at one otter in particular that was making lazy figure eights in front of them, as if entertaining the young human was his only goal in life. He made a face that reminded Molly of her husband in a particularly thoughtful mood, and apparently Izzy agreed because she giggled and said, “Look, Unca Lock! He in his mind place, just like you do!”

Sherlock pulled a sour face; the otter paused in his underwater perambulations to swim closer to the glass, and Molly could have sworn the creature made the exact same face. She stifled a giggle of her own, but couldn’t hold it in when Izzy tilted her head up to study her godfather, then looked back at the sleek, brown-furred animal who now had his paws raised up under his chin. “Yeah, he you, Unca Lock,” Izzy pronounced, causing Sherlock to give her the modified version of his patented ‘glare of annoyance’ that he’d learned to tone down where the children were concerned.

"No, Isabelle, he does not. He is an otter, and I am a human being. We look nothing like one another excepting the fact that we have two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth," he said.

Izzy frowned and looked back, but the otter had swum away. Molly, however, had been tracking its movements and guided the pair of them to where it was now perched on a rock, grooming itself. “I dunno, Sherlock, it does bear a striking resemblance to you in one of your blacker moods,” she murmured, smirking as he turned an outraged glare at her.

Izzy bounced in his arms and pointed at the otter as it flopped on its back, its head resting on the downward slope of the rock and all four paws splayed out. “Unca Lock take a nap onna sofa!” Izzy crowed, and Molly could hold it in no longer. She burst into laughter, and Izzy joined her. The more aloof and disapproving Sherlock looked, the harder his wife and goddaughter laughed…especially when the otter rolled onto its side and squinted at them as if it, too, disapproved of the comparison.

The merriment at Unca Lock’s expense only ended when the twins finally woke up, cranky and demanding ice cream.

Their expressions were nearly as grumpy as that of their father — and the otter, who finally turned his back on them as if disgusted by the foolishness of humans and waddled off to the sleeping area.


	15. Gimme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Yay! You had Sgt. Sally Donavon. I'm glad you had her stop calling Sherlock a freak. Can we have Izzy charming Sgt. Donavon? She seems to have a soft spot for kids.

"She’s cute."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he cradled his goddaughter easily in one arm while he tapped away on his mobile with the other hand. “Of course she is. All babies are designed to appeal to adult…”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Yeah, don’t need a lecture on genetics, you git. Just hand her over.” She reached out and made grabby motions, which Sherlock eyed doubtfully. “Come on, I won’t drop her. And you need both hands to look up that info, yeah? More efficient that way?”

Faced with that sort of impeccable logic, Sherlock could do nothing but nod, reluctantly handing his goddaughter over to the police officer. He and Sally still kept only a cool sort of detente between them in most interactions, but he’d noticed her visibly thawing whenever Isabelle was in the flat with him. Interesting.

However, he knew well enough to leave his deductions as to her personal longing for a child of her own to himself.


	16. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neverland8: Hi, I'm too lazy to log in, and I have a story prompt, if you don't mind. John and Mary announce that they're expecting another baby. After sulking for weeks, Izzy finally confides in her Uncle Sherlock that she feels she's being replaced.
> 
> Slightly tweaked, but here it is!

"Isabelle Marie Watson, you come out from under that desk right now!"

"Don't wanna!"

Sherlock sighed and got on his hands and knees, peering through the legs of the chair at his pouting god-daughter. "Really, Isabelle, there's no way I can fit in there with you, and there's no way I'm talking to you through the legs of this chair. You need to come out before Aunt Molly and the twins get home; you don't want to let them see you acting like a baby, do you?"

Something about the way she reacted to his words alerted him as to the nature of her current upset; Sherlock gently pushed the chair aside and lay flat on the floor, chin resting on his hands as he gazed thoughtfully at his god-daughter. Her blue eyes were watery and sad, her golden curls a tangled mess, and her cheeks were red. There were also the telltale signs of thumbsucking, a habit the almost-four-year-old reverted to only in moments of severe stress. "Tell me about it, Izzy," Sherlock said softly, keeping his voice low and soothing but not at all condescending.

She looked at him, looked away, hugged her knees to her chest, and finally burst into a heartbroken wail. "Mummy an' Dada are havin' anover baby an' they won't want me anymore!"

Sherlock mentally nodded; yep, exactly as he'd feared. With a sigh he rolled over and held his arms out; Izzy wasted no time in clambering from beneath the desk and hurling herself into his embrace, sobbing loudly.

With a bit of shuffling and some grunting on his part - Izzy was a solid little girl - Sherlock maneuvered the two of them so that she was curled on his lap and he was braced against the side of the desk with his legs crossed beneath him. He let her cry for a few minutes, stroking a soothing hand down the back of her neck and waiting for the tears to recede a bit before finally speaking to her again.

"When Scarlett and Edmund were born, you tried to hide them in a cupboard," he said with a reminiscent chuckle.

Izzy gazed at him, wide-eyed. "I did?"

Sherlock nodded. "Oh yes, you did. You couldn't wait for 'your babies' to be born, and when they got here, you were so afraid they would take up all our time that you wanted nothing more than for them to be gone."

Izzy frowned. "I was naughty," she said solemnly. "Bad Izzy."

Sherlock dropped a reassuring kiss on her head. "No, you were just a bit afraid, like you are now. But you know that Aunt Molly and I love you just as much as we do Scarlett and Edmund, right?"

Izzy nodded so hard that some of the tears that had been coating her cheeks went flying. "An I love them," she replied confidently. "Me an' Eddie's gunna get married when we're bigger."

Sherlock had his doubts about that, but wisely kept them to himself; he was trying to calm his god-daughter down, after all, not get her more upset about something that was nothing more than a childish fancy she'd grow out of soon enough. "Er, yes," was all he said. "But the point is, you love them, and we love you; and Aunt Molly and I managed to love two babies at the same time, so why do you think your Mum and Dad won't be able to do the same?"

"Dada's not as smart as you, Unca Lock," Izzy replied doubtfully. "What if he forgets he has a big girl when the baby gets here?"

"Don't worry, your mum would never let that happen," Sherlock said, his words a promise that Izzy appeared to take to heart; after all, she knew who the true heart of her family was...and which parent was the smarter of the pair.

His smug mental digs at his best friend were interrupted by the sound of the door opening; childish laughter met their ears, and the sound of Molly rather breathlessly admonishing the twins not to run. Her previous heartache forgotten, Izzy jumped to her feet to meet them, leaving Sherlock to dust himself off and stand up as well, although with quite a bit less gusto. He greeted his wife with a kiss and a hurried explanation, then proceeded to ensure that his three-year-old son and daughter - and their 'cousin' - had an excellent afternoon before John and Mary came to fetch their daughter.


	17. Uncle Mycroft

“Sherlock, you’ve said it yourself; I AM the British government. I do not babysit!”

“Shh, Isabelle, don’t worry, Uncle Mycroft doesn’t mean it.” Sherlock smirked at his brother as he softly bounced his goddaughter in his arms. 

Mycroft lifted his chin and gave his brother his best imperious stare. “And I am not her uncle!” he huffed. “Nor are you, for that matter. You are, in fact, no blood relation at all! You are her godfather, Sherlock! And this obsession you have…”

He fell silent as Sherlock abruptly shoved the giggling nine-month-old into his brother’s arms. Isabelle stopped giggling and stared up at him, blue eyes round and wide, her expression suddenly rather solemn as the two of them traded looks.

She reached up slowly and patted Mycroft’s nose, then smiled her sweetest smile.

And that, Sherlock related proudly to Molly later that evening, was the moment the Iceman finally melted.


	18. Tantrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shoreshroot wrote: Requested by sherlolly29 illustration of miz-joely fanfics
> 
> Sherlolly29 wrote: How about Sherlolly bringing their twins to Uncle Mycroft coz it's date night and they need a babysitter. Scarlett being so cool about it because she knows her uncle loves sweets like her. But Edmund throwing a tantrum and not letting go of Sherlock's leg.
> 
> (First two lines courtesy of shoreshroot)
> 
> You can see the whole post including the lovely artwork on my tumblr page. I'm mizjoely there. Thanks to both sherlolly29 and shoreshroot for the lovely art and the prompt!

Scarlett: "Uncle Mikey! Mommy brought your favorite cookies!"

Edmund: "NO NO NO NO DADDY DON'T GO PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!"

"Edmund, let go of Daddy's legs right now, young man!"

The two-year-old turned his tear-stained face up to Molly's. "But Mummy, I don't want Daddy to go!" His eyes, already impossibly wide, seemed to double in size as he realized his mother was leaving as well and transferred to Molly's ankles before she could stop him. "Mummy! Don't go!"

As Molly stooped to try and extricate herself from her son's tight grasp, Sherlock knelt down and whispered something in Edmund's ear. The toddler's face lit up and he let go of Molly without another sound, crawling over to sit next to Mycroft, grasping the leg that wasn't currently being occupied by Scarlett.

As they left, with reassurances from Mycroft that the three of them would be just fine, Molly asked Sherlock what he'd said to calm their son down.

Her husband shrugged and clasped her hand in his. "I told him if he behaved for Uncle Mycroft that we would take him and his sister to see Izzy tomorrow afternoon." He glanced sidelong at his wife. "My goddaughter still says she intends to marry our son, you know."

Molly grinned and leaned her head on his arm as they neared the car. "Yes, well, time will tell, won't it?" She sighed. "At least the thought of seeing her helped calm him down; even if they never do get married, I just know they'll always be friends!"

Twenty years later, when Sherlock made his speech at the wedding of Edmund Holmes and Isabelle Watson, he related that very story, much to his son's embarrassment. Isabelle, however, simply smiled knowingly and held her new husband's hand in quiet contentment.


	19. Playdate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> benedicted-cumberbatched asked: Prompt: (sorry more than one word but) Playdate with Uncle Sherlock/Daddy

"Now, Sherlock, make sure you keep an eye on Scarlett and Edmund. Even if John is going to be there, you can’t just depend on him, you have to actually help out. And he’ll be busy with Izzy." Molly giggled at her inadvertent rhyme, while her husband simply rolled his eyes and huffed with impatience.

"Yes, I know how to take care of our children, Molly, I’ve done it since they were born, same as you. Well," he corrected himself, "not quite the same as you, lacking the proper mammary glands to feed them with…"

"Yes, all right, Sherlock, that’s enough!" She glanced warning at the three-year-old twins sitting in their car seats and listening with obvious interest to every word out of their parents’ mouths. "You just behave yourself, and leave the mammary glands out of it!" she said in a low voice, then cooed and planted a quick kiss on each child’s forehead. "And you two, be good for Daddy and Uncle John, yeah? Play nice with Izzy!"

"I gonna mawwy her, Mummy," Edmund said solemnly, then stuck his thumb in his mouth.

"Yes, of course you are, love," Molly said with a tolerant smile as she plucked the offending digit out of his mouth and replaced it with a sugarless biscuit. He made a face but obediently gnawed on it while Scarlett demanded kisses from Daddy.

"You’re sure the two of you will be all right?" Molly asked as she pulled reluctantly out of the car. "It’s an overnight stay at the spa, and it’s lovely that you and John did this for Mary and I, but…"

Sherlock silenced his wife with a firm but loving kiss. “Yes. Now shoo, enjoy yourselves, John and I and the children will be fine. We’ll see you tomorrow. Say good-bye to Mummy!” he commanded, and the children obediently waved and blew kisses and said ‘bye-bye Mummy!’ in their sweet little voices.

When Mary and Molly returned the next afternoon, relaxed and refreshed, they had to bite back laughter at the sight that greeted them at the Watson house: jam on the walls, toys covering every inch of the sitting room floor, and most importantly, an exhausted John and Sherlock fast asleep on the sofa, snoring softly and holding the three pyjama-clad toddlers - as fast asleep as their fathers - nestled in their laps.

"Oh, we need to manipulate the boys into giving us trips to the spa more often," Mary whispered gleefully as she took several snaps with her mobile camera. "This playdate idea of yours was genius, Molly!"

And Molly, smiling fondly at the adorable sight in front of her, had to agree.


	20. Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faurubarroo on tumblr said: Shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't say it enough, but thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and comment on my stories. I appreciate every kind word!

"Edmund John Hooper-Holmes! Where are your shoes?"

Molly winced as she heard her husband bellowing at their four-year-old son. Wonderful, Eddie had hidden his shoes again. He hated having to dress up, almost as much as his sister did. But where Scarlett preferred to simply to pout and whine, Edmund tended to take direct - and exasperating - action.

"Don't wanna wear 'em!" Edmund bellowed right back, running down the hall as fast as his sturdy little legs could carry him. Molly reached out and grabbed him with practiced hands, swinging him into her arms while he squealed in surprise. "Mummy! Do I hafta wear them?" he whined.

"Edmund, you get your shoes and bring them to Daddy so he can help you tie them," she said sternly. Then, she added shrewdly, "And if you do it quickly, then we'll get to the church early enough to talk to Izzy before she has to sit with Aunt Mary and Uncle John."

As expected, Edmund quickly wiggled out of her arms and raced back to his bedroom, dodging around his thoroughly exasperated father.

"Why are we doing this again?" he muttered as he reached Molly, pulling her close and laying his cheek on the top of her head.

"Because we're going to witness Robbie Watson's christening, while Greg and Sally stand as his godparents and at NO time," she added warningly, "will you pretend not to know who I'm talking about!"

"Got my shoes!" Edmund crowed as he came racing up to his parents. He held up the shiny black (loathed) footwear triumphantly. "Hurry up, let's go!"

He danced about from foot to foot while Sherlock grumblingly tied the slippery laces and Molly made sure Scarlett was ready. At least she liked her shiny black patent-leather Mary Janes!

After the ceremony had come to a successful conclusion and they were gathered back at the Watson's small house, Moly smiled and Sherlock rolled his eyes as Edmund carefully showed off his shoes to an admiring Isabelle Watson.

Maybe, Molly thought fondly, the two of them actually _would_ end up married to one another one day.


	21. Grandpa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterdahlias on tumblr said: Grandpa

It's not a word Siger Holmes ever expected to use in relation to himself. Not with the two fine young men he and Violet raised - fine, but unconventional, to put it mildly. And yet here he is, smiling widely at two young forms running pell-mell up the drive, arms wide, yelling that word at the top of their lungs. "Grandpa! Grandpa!"

He crouches down and takes Scarlett and Edmund into his arms, planting noisy kisses on their chubby little cheeks and receiving equally noisy kisses back from them. The tip of his nose is moist as well as his cheeks, and his knees are creaking, but as he looks up and sees the warm smile on his daughter-in-law's face, and the equally warm smile on his difficult, prickly son's face, he acknowledges that the wetness isn't just from his grandchildren's kisses.

No, Siger Holmes never thought he'd be grandpa to anyone, but he knows no deeper contentment than in knowing that is exactly who he is.


	22. Birthday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Likingthistoomuch on tumblr said: birthday party!

Isabelle Anne Watson looked around and pouted. Scarlett and Edmund weren’t there yet, and baby Robbie was fussing and Mummy was busy with him and so was Daddy, even though it was HER birthday. It wasn’t fair! Babies ruined everything, just like she told Uncle Lock. But he’d told her to be patient, that one day Robbie would be her very favorite person in the whole world, and she believed him because Uncle Lock would never ever lie to her.

And if he did, Aunt Molly would yell at him.

That thought brought a smile to her pouty face. Uncle Lock was so tall and big and he could be scary but Aunt Molly was tiny and sweet and baked lovely biscuits…and could make Uncle Lock shake in his shoes. That’s what Daddy said, anyway, and after careful observation, Isabelle had decided that this time Daddy was right.

Still, Uncle Lock and Aunt Molly and Edmund and Scarlett weren’t here. They’d keep her company; they’d fuss over her instead of stupid little Robbie who couldn’t even hold his own head up yet. She’d promised Uncle Lock she wouldn’t hide him in the cupboard the way she’d done to Scarlett and Edmund once – she didn’t remember doing it, but if Uncle Lock said she did, then she did. Maybe they were being noisy and stinky like Robbie was right now, his face getting redder and redder in the way that told his sister he was busy filling his diaper.

Holding her nose, Isabelle backed away, then ran into the sitting room to get away from the awfulness of it all. She was going to be three and no one even cared!

Tears welled up in her cornflower blue eyes, but before they could spill over, the front door opened and in walked Uncle Lock, holding Edmund, who was squirming to be let down. “Uncle Lock! When do babies get to be fun an’ not yucky?” she demanded before her godfather was barely through the door.

Edmund toddled over to her and hugged her, grinning up at her and pointing to his new tooth. “Toof!” he said happily. “Toof, Izzy!”

“It’s a nice toof, Eddie,” she said kindly, then tugged his hands free and marched over to Uncle Lock, staring up at him. “Uncle Lock? When do babies…”

“Sorry, Izzy, but babies take their own time about everything,” he replied, lifting her into his arms and kissing her cheek. “Besides, it’s not up to them to be fun, it’s up to you,” and he poked her in the belly, then tickled her until she giggled, “to decide that they are fun. Just as you did with Scarlett and Edmund.”

Isabelle nodded solemnly, although there was still a hint of a laugh from the tickling. “Okay, Uncle Lock,” she said. If it was up to her to decide when babies got to be fun, then Robbie was in for a long wait. She certainly wasn’t going to let him be fun today. Not on her birthday!

“Hi, Aunt Molly!” she chirped as Molly and Scarlett came into the room. Scarlett was proudly holding a gaily wrapped package that was almost as big as she was, and Isabelle soon squirmed her way out of Uncle Lock’s arms and over to see what the littler girl was holding. “Is that for me?”

“Izzy present!” Scarlett said, sounding just as proud as she looked. She nearly dropped the package trying to hand it to Isabelle, but she didn’t mind. Scarlett was just a baby, really, not even two yet! She and Edmund were sitting next to each other now, clapping their hands and bouncing with excitement as they shouted for her to open it.

“Not until the party starts,” Aunt Molly said. 

When Isabelle looked beseechingly up at Uncle Lock, he raised his hands and shook his head. “Sorry, Izzy, but Aunt Molly is in charge of birthday parties, not me,” he said.

Isabelle gave her aunt a sideways look; yup, she had on her “no I’m not going to change my mind” look. The one Daddy called her Slapping face, although Mummy always smacked him on the arm and told him not to call it that in front of the C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N, which Isabelle knew spelt “children” cause Uncle Lock had told her when she asked him. Yes, Aunt Molly definitely knew how to make Uncle Lock shake in his shoes, even if he wasn’t actually shaking – and she checked, looking carefully at his feet. He was shifting them back and forth; maybe that was as good as shaking?

“Isabelle! Guess who has a present for you!” She squealed and ran toward her Daddy, who was carrying not one, not two, but three presents in his hands! She read the tags when he set them on the floor next to the gift from the twins; one had the letter “M” which meant Mummy, one had the letter “D” which meant Daddy, and the other one…she frowned and tried to remember what the funny letter with the round top and the two legs, one straight and one like the side of a triangle, was called. 

“It’s an R, sweetheart,” she heard Mummy say, and looked up at her. She was holding Robbie, of course, who was no longer yelling and didn’t smell funny, and…

“Oh!” Isabelle exclaimed, clapping her hands together and giving a little skip of excitement. “R for Robbie!”

As she was opening her gifts a few minutes later, and cooing over the lovely set of monster trucks her baby brother had given her, she decided that maybe, just maybe, they were sort of fun after all.


	23. First Day of School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> itsmssherlocked asked: If you're still taking drabbles requests here's one. First day at school for one of the kids. Happy, sad, funny, your choice :)

Izzy Watson was excited. She was so excited she couldn’t hold still long enough for her mother to button up her brand new, specially-bought-for-the-first-day-of-school cardigan. It was bright yellow with little red flowers on it, and Izzy loved it. Aunt Molly had picked it out for her, and she and Uncle Lock were coming to see her off on her first day of school. “Hold still, wiggle worm!” Mummy said with a laugh. “Else you’ll go to school with your buttons all mis-matched, and we don’t want that, do we?”

Izzy obediently stilled herself, as best she could. Didn’t Mummy know how excited she was? Daddy did, because he was smiling at her, but Izzy crinkled her forehead in confusion. “Daddy? Are you crying?” 

He sniffed loudly and said, “No, silly, of course not!”

But Izzy knew when Daddy was fibbing, and her forehead-crinkle got deeper. “Daddy, don’t be sad! I’ll be home after school and Mummy says teacher might let me draw something!” Her eyes brightened as she added, “I could draw something you’d like!”

Then Daddy hugged her, even though Mummy was still fussing over her cardigan, and he kissed her on the cheek and Izzy hugged him back. She’d miss Daddy, but he went to work all the time, and Mummy did too on some days, so now it was just her turn, Isabelle Anne Watson, to do something big and important outside the house. Everyone got to, except Robbie, and Izzy was so proud to be such a big girl that she didn’t even let the little poop-maker spoil her morning.

The doorbell rang, and Izzy pulled out of Daddy’s hug to rush over and open it, stopping with her hand on the knob and calling out, “Who is it?” Because Mummy and Daddy and Uncle Lock always told her not to just open the door even if she thought she knew who it was. Safety first!  
"It’s the big bad wolf, who do you think it is?"

Izzy giggled and threw the door wide open, wrapping her arms around Uncle Lock’s waist and beaming up at him. “You’re not the big bad wolf! You’re the brave woodsman!”

Uncle Lock looked confused, and Izzy stamped her foot in exasperation. “ Uncle Lock! Did you delete Little Red Riding Hood _again_?”

"Izzy! Kisses!" Scarlett and Edmund hugged her and demanded good luck kisses from her, even though she was the one going to school, and then Mummy was taking her hand and she was putting on her backpack and off they all went to the bus stop. Izzy was extra proud of the fact that she was old enough to go on the bus, even though Daddy wanted to drive her. But she wasn’t a baby and Uncle Lock had ‘vestigated the driver and it was her special first day of school. She smiled and waved as everyone - well, not Scarlett and Edmund, who looked super jealous, and not baby Robbie, who looked like he was pooping - took pictures with their mobiles. Then she was off, feeling very pleased and happy, knowing that school was going to be the best adventure ever.

And so it was.


	24. Just Like Mummy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> asteraeceaeblue said: Sherlock taking care of his babies when they are sick and Molly is not home? Making them special toast with the crusts cut off and trying to do things "Just like mummy does"?

Everything would be fine, he’d said. Nothing would go wrong. He wouldn’t take any cases lower than a 9, and if he did, he’d be sure to bring the children to John and Mary’s house, if Mrs. Hudson or his parents weren’t available. They would all be fine, she would only be gone a week, the conference was the first one she’d gone to since the twins had been born three years ago, and for God’s sake Molly, I know how to take care of our children!

Well. So much for ‘fine’. So much for ‘I know how to take care of our children.’

Because from what he’d been able to ascertain, he’d never been more wrong in his entire life, up to and including how devastatingly he’d underestimated Irene Adler.

Not twenty-five minutes after they’d seen Molly off at Heathrow, in the midst of his explanation as to where exactly Budapest was located and why the twins couldn’t go with her, Edmund had sneezed. Violently. Twelve times in a row. Then Scarlett, never one to allow her brother to top her, had sniffled and coughed and the next thing he knew Sherlock Holmes, world’s only consulting detective, had two rather sick toddlers on his hands.

It wasn’t, as he’d first feared, the flu; just a simple case of the common cold, John had assured him when he’d called his friend in a – not a panic, Sherlock Holmes never panicked, but in a state of understandable concern. Yes. Understandable concern, and John Watson could take his snickers and condescending attitude and shove it up his…

“Dada!”

He winced at the miserable sounding whine from his daughter, who currently lay on one end of the sofa, her head on her favorite pillow – the Union Jack – while Edmund lay opposite her, with his head on a large, fluffy stuffed bear. A bright blue one with a rather saggy ear, the one Edmund tugged on when he was upset. He was tugging on it now, and both toddlers were staring at him out of sad, red-rimmed eyes.

He had set up the vaporizer he’d purchased that very morning on a small stool set carefully a few feet away from them, just far enough that they couldn’t knock into it if they decided to slide off the sofa, but close enough for the vapors to hopefully do some good.

“What is it, sweetpea?” he asked Scarlett, dutifully utilizing the nickname Molly used whenever Scarlett needed cosseting, although he couldn’t quite manage the loving coo his wife employed so effortlessly.

Apparently he was even worse at it than he thought, judging by the way Scarlett scrunched up her forehead and wrinkled her little nose. “Mummy say swee’pea,” Edmund corrected him crossly. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and mumbled, “Not Dada.”

Well. Apparently that was that. “What is it, Scarlett?” Sherlock corrected himself patiently.

“Drink?” she asked, then gave a pathetic little cough and opened her eyes as wide as they would go. “Doda?”

Sherlock scowled down at his daughter; sick or not, Scarlett knew very well how to pronounce her esses – and she also knew soda was only a treat for very special occasions. “Juice,” he countered firmly, then marched into the kitchen, stoutly ignoring the wails that erupted from her throat at being so thwarted. He poured out the juice into the little sippy cup he knew his daughter preferred – the one with the cheerful red dragon on a bright green background that always made him faintly nauseous – and carried it back into the sitting room.

His expression softened at the sight of his twins now cuddled together under Edmund’s blue-and-yellow plaid blanket, the one he’d been swathed in while Scarlett had insisted on “no blankie!” because she was too hot. Edmund’s arms were wrapped around his sister’s sturdy little form, and her cries had dropped to small sniffles as he whispered something nonsensical into her hair. Well nonsensical to the adults in their lives; like all twins, they’d developed something of a private language of their own that neither Sherlock nor Molly – nor one of Mycroft’s most expert cryptographers – had yet to decipher. In fact, the only people who came close were Mary – whom Sherlock firmly believed to be faking – and Isabelle Watson. Who refused to explain anything, even to her beloved Unca Lock.

All of which was beside the point. Scarlett’s pout vanished at the sight of her favorite cup; she sat up and made grabby hands, and Sherlock made sure she had it firmly in her grasp before letting go. Then it was Edmund’s turn to fuss a bit, needing his nose wiped and piece of toast with the crusts cut off. Sherlock felt a sense of accomplishment when this effort, at least, was met with approval. “Fanks, Dada, you cuts it just like Mummy!”

The rest of the week passed with both missteps and triumphs on Sherlock’s part, but at last the children were feeling better. On the day Molly was due home he managed to get them both into clothing rather than pyjamas – and himself as well, although that was essentially all they’d worn the entire time – and shoes, although as always with Edmund it was a fight. They were sitting on the sofa waiting for Molly’s arrival…and it was thus she found the three of them, cuddled up together and fast asleep. She smiled, kissed each of them on the forehead, deposited her suitcase in the bedroom, and covered them with the afghan Mrs. Hudson had crocheted upon Molly’s pregnancy. Then she curled up in Sherlock’s chair and just watched them sleep, content and happy to be home again.


	25. Hair Today...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pesky infestation causes some radical changes to the Hooper-Holmes clan, will they survive?

_Ms. Umbrella from ff.net said: I have a prompt for you!! It's actually two and I hope it's okay...They're both parent!lock. ~~The first one is~ one of Molly's and Sherlock's kids comes out of the closet- how do they react?~~ The second one is~ one of their kids have lice, and Sherlock is panicking because he's scared for his hair. P.s- love your writing!!!_

_A/N: Made some slight alterations, hope you still like it!_

 

“No, really, it looks…good. Different. Um, distinguished?”

Molly Hooper-Holmes bit hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Not at the way her husband’s signature curls had been shorn because of The Lice Incident, but because of his extremely pouty expression. He looked like Edmund in a strop over being forced to eat porridge for breakfast instead of chocolate.

“I like it, Daddy,” Scarlett piped up loyally, raising her arms and making grabby-hands to indicate her desire to be picked up. She and Edmund were almost five but hadn’t yet decided they were too grown-up for such things. Especially when Daddy was pouting.

“Mrs. Hammond says it’s just stuff that happens,” Scarlett consoled her father as she cuddled her head against his shoulder. Her own red locks had been chopped to a cute little pixie cut when the dreaded insect infestation had torn right through the entire Hooper-Holmes family – along with more than half the twins’ classmates families. Edmund’s hair was shortest of all, since the little pests seemed to like his hair best.

Neither twin was particularly bothered on their own behalves, but the same couldn’t be said for their father, who’d come home in a panic when Mary Watson had spotted one of the creepy little things in his hair and ordered him home for immediate treatment. Alas, it was too late for a mere wash and comb with medicated shampoo; instead, the entire family got chopped.

Including Molly, who kept brushing at her non-existent pony-tail and was still getting used to having to use roughly a quarter of the amount of shampoo she normally did.

She sighed and watched as Sherlock gave Scarlett a kiss on the forehead before putting her back down. “Go see what your brother’s up to,” he said, not quite an order but firmly spoken nonetheless. “He’s being far too quiet up in your room.”

Scarlett nodded and skipped out of the sitting room. Her parents listened to her as she pattered up the stairs, and then both turned to one another and spoke at the same time. “No, really, I quite like it.” “Do you really think I care about how I look?”

They fell silent at the same time, and Molly finally asked, “Then if it’s not your haircut that’s bothering you, what is it?”

He gestured toward her head. “I miss your hair, it’s not the same without your pony-tail flicking me in the face when you turn around too quickly. And I know you miss it, you keep rubbing at your head and frowning. I just…I wish I’d noticed sooner. How could I miss something like this and cause you and the children to have to suffer through…”

He fell silent only because Molly was kissing him. “We’re not suffering,” she said when she drew back to take a breath, reaching up to ruffle the short locks remaining on his head. “Like Mrs. Hammond said, it’s just one of those things. It’s only hair, and hair grows back. I’ll get used to it, and so will you.”

She kissed him again, giggling when he murmured against her lips, “Yes, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”


	26. Babysitting

A rather harried looking Mary said to John, “Tell me again why we agreed to do this?”

"Because," her spouse replied through gritted teeth as he finally corralled Edmund and lifted the screaming, kicking toddler into his arms, "Sherlock and Molly needed some time for themselves, and since they, ungh," he grunted as Edmund’s flailing legs caught him in the midsection, thankfully not anywhere lower or Izzy might end up an only child, "did the same for us after Izzy was born."

"Yeah, but next time I think we’ll let Mycroft do the honors," was Mary’s tart reply as she adroitly plucked Edmund from her husband’s arms and tried to place him back into his cot. Izzy and Scarlett were both bouncing up and down excitedly at the sight of the other child’s tantrum, but thankfully neither girl seemed inclined to join him. Even his twin, who normally empathy-cried when her brother had a meltdown like this, seemed too fascinated by the show to even think of joining in.

"Deal," John replied, then let loose a string of expletives as Edmund finally connected with a crucial area of the male anatomy and with a mighty heave, slithered out of Mary’s arms while she was still a bit shell-shocked at the sight of her husband kneeling on the floor, groaning and cupping his private parts in obvious pain.

"No bed!" Edmund shrieked and scarpered out the door.

"No bed, no bed!" Izzy and Scarlett started chanting in unison, still bouncing excitedly and holding onto the railing of the cot they were sharing.

"Bed for everyone!" John roared, his expression promising bloody murder as he staggered to his feet and once again gave chase to his godson. Mary stayed with the girls, having no doubt that her escape-artist daughter would find some way to flee the cot, Scarlett giggling right along with her, if she left them alone long enough to help John with Edmund. 

With a sigh, she glanced down at her mobile, even pulled it out of her pocket and hesitated a long, long minute before sighing again and shoving it back out of sight. “No,” she muttered, running a hand along her sweaty brow and shoving her bedraggled blonde locks off her forehead. “We promised them two days. Two full days unless there was some kind of an emer…”

The sound of a crash and another fussilade of John’s curses from the living room broke her train of thought; sternly telling Izzy and Scarlett to stay where they were, she rushed out of the room, followed by the rising voices of the two girls, Scarlett still chanting “No bed” and Isabelle now hysterically screaming “Daddy owie! Daddy owie!”

In the midst of the chaos, while Mary attempted to soothe Edmund and John snarled and grumbled his way to the kitchen to grab the dustpan and brush to clean up the lamp Edmund had knocked over, no one noticed the front door quietly opening, or the two stunned visitors staring at the wreckage as they slipped inside.

The sound of the door closing, however, caught Mary’s attention, just as Edmund apparently noticed the newcomers. “Mumma! Mumma! Want you! Dadda!” he cried out piteously, as if Mary was torturing him instead of trying to calm him down. Rather than fight it, she simply released him and let him run to his mother’s waiting arms. Molly’s expression was apologetic as she stooped down to gather up her son, Sherlock’s faintly amused, and Mary simply pointed to the bedroom, where Scarlett and Isabelle’s howls had escalated.

"We, um, decided to come back early," Molly ventured as Edmund finally started calming down, his thumb firmly in his mouth, and Sherlock obediently headed for the two girls. "I’m so sorry, Mary, I had no idea they’d give you so much trouble! When Isabelle stays over they’re all good as gold, I swear!"

Mary gave her a tired smile. “It’s all right, Molly. They just missed you. We should’ve had the twins over for sleepovers before this to get them used to the idea, but someone…” she glared daggers at Sherlock as he entered the room, a todder clutched in each arm, both little girls beaming as if they’d never been working themselves up to hysterics only a minute earlier. “ _Someone_  kept insisting on having Isabelle over and finding excuses not to leave the twins here instead.”

Sherlock didn’t even look remorseful, merely grinned and kissed each of his girls — his daughter and his goddaughter — on the tops of their respectively auburn and blonde heads. “Can I help it if they prefer my company? Besides,” he added complacently, “Don’t pretend you and John didn’t enjoy those extra nights off.”

"Oh, lovely, of course you’re back early," John said as he finally emerged from the kitchen, where it was obvious he’d taken a quick drink before grabbing the dustpan and brush he now held in one hand. "Come to gloat about what a hard time we’ve been having, trying to get the kids to bed?"

Sherlock finally looked somewhat uncomfortable, his eyes seeking out Molly’s. Who merely grinned and shook her head before responding to John, “No, nothing like that. Let’s just say that SOMEBODY missed the twins so much that SOMEBODY insisted we head home early.”

Mary smirked, and John guffawed. All three children joined in the merriment while Sherlock gave Molly a look of betrayal. “You’re my wife, Molly,” he sniffed. “You’re supposed to back me up, not throw me to the wolves.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and kissed Edmund on the top of his head. “Sorry, love, you’re on your own this time. I was perfectly content to stay for the night. And since I’m betting Eddie here has something to do with that broken lamp, maybe you should help John clean up while Mary and I settle the children into bed. Come on lovies,” she added to Scarlett and Isabelle, nestled so trustingly in Sherlock’s arms. “Time for bed. Aunt Mary and I will read you a story if you promise to be good.”

"Promise!" Izzy sang out, with Scarlett’s lisping echo of "Pwomise!" following close behind. Edmund, it would seem, had already contrived to fall asleep in his mother’s arms, and now that the chief troublemaker was out of the picture, the two girls quickly followed.

After the promised story, of course.

 


	27. Dinosaur Zoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I present to you an izzywatsonverse drabble for H&P who are suffering from strep, poor little guys. lilsherlockian1975says they loved it and I hope you do too. :D

"Well, Molly it's a good things the twins got strep, wouldn't you say?"

"Sherlock Holmes! You know it's never good when the children are sick! We've talked about this!"

Sherlock gestured towards the television, which was showing a news report. "Look, Molly, if the children hadn't contracted strep from Isabelle Watson, then we would have gone to this dinosaur zoo the way you wanted to, and been caught up in all this!" He pointed the remote at the television, turning up the volume so Molly could hear.

"…and as we've reported, there has been a major incident at Jurassic World, the likes of which has never been seen before. Hundreds dead, thousands injured, and it's reported that the CEO, Simon Masrani, is one of the victims. Whether he lives or not remains to be…"

He clicked the "mute" button again. "Care to disagree with me about the convenience of Scarlett and Edmund's illness, Molly?"

She sat down, rather weakly, next to him on the sofa. "O-okay," she finally said. "I guess this one time…you're right."

Sherlock smirked and kissed her on the forehead. "When will you learn that I'm ALWAYS right?" he asked, then added with a sigh, "It's a curse."


	28. Jabs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the twins to get their booster shots, and no one's happy about it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for P & H, lilsherlockian1975's boys, who had to get their shots today.

"Do we hafta, Mum? Do we really hafta?" "Muuummm, why do we have to get bootsers? We don't like bootsers!"

"It's ‘boosters’, Edmund, and yes, Scarlett, you absolutely 'hafta' get your jabs today. Sorry, it's just one of those things," Molly Hooper-Holmes explained to her five-year-old twins. They gave her identical scowls, which immediately morphed into identical puppy-dog eyes complete with trembling lower lips. "No use pulling those faces on me," she said cheerfully as she began helping them into their jackets and boots. "You know that only works on Daddy, and unfortunately for you, he's out on a case with Uncle John and Aunt Mary. Which," she added before they could find the breath to interrupt her, "is why we're stopping back at Baker Street; Nana Hudson is watching Izzy. 

The twins immediately perked up; Isabelle Watson was their favorite person in the world, excepting their own father and each other. She was seven and therefore the world's most foremost expert on everything in their minds. (Again, excepting their father but not necessarily each other.) "Why're we taking Izzy if Nana Watson is watching her?" Scarlett asked curiously, buttoning up her jacket while Molly helped Edmund with his.

"Because she needs her jabs as well, so I agreed to take her," Molly explained. "Afterward you can cry on one another's shoulders if you'd like, all the way to Uncle Mycroft's house, where we'll be having cake and ice cream to help console you."

They perked up even more at that promised treat, as well as at the thought that they wouldn't be alone in their misery. Besides, if  Izzy had to have her boosters, well, then it probably wouldn't be nearly as bad as they thought it would be. 

Even though she knew they'd soon enough be snuffling and whining again as Dr. Alex entered the cubicle at the clinic, but she'd deal with that when it happened. After all, getting jabs wasn't anyone's idea of fun, not even a parent or a paediatrician (no matter what the children might believe!), and she would be there to hug and kiss them and reassure them that no, they wouldn't be sore forever. Cake and ice cream with their favorite (OK, only, but he really was very much their favorite!) uncle would go a long way to easing their discomfort. 

Two hours later, the deed was done. Isabelle had done her very best to be a Grown Up but even she'd had to look away when the doctor gave her her booster shot. Now they were in the back of the car, sniffling and comparing bandages (Izzy's had a smiley-faced cat, Scarlett and Edmund both had bright green strips with some sort of cartoonish monster face for decoration), and it was only a few minutes' drive to Uncle Mycroft's Belgravian mansion. 

An extra surprise was waiting for them when they got inside: Sherlock, John and Mary had wrapped up the case and were waiting for them. Scarlett and Edmund immediately launched themselves at their father, wailing loudly at the 'abuse' they'd suffered at Mummy's hands, while Isabelle maintained a decorous pace...but still went right to Mary for a hug. Sherlock's face was a study; he never could stand to see the children unhappy, and by the guilty look he shot Molly as she shut the door behind them, the 'case' he'd dragged Mary and John out for could probably have waited another day. She shook her head in fond exasperation as she crossed over to where he was settled onto his haunches, a twin gathered close in either arm, and dropped a kiss on the top of his head to let him know he was forgiven. "Now," she said loudly, over the unhappy babbling of her children as they each tried to outdo the other in describing the horrors of the visit, "let's get some of that cake and ice cream, shall we?"

"Indeed, I'm afraid it's going to melt if we don't repair to the kitchen immediately," came a new voice from the direction of the sitting room.

"Uncle Mikey! Uncle Mikey!" The twins were immediately off and running, tears once again forgotten - and Daddy too, much to his disgruntlement. Sherlock never had become accustomed to how close his children were to his brother.

"Better not keep the treats waiting," Mary advised with a grin as Sherlock unfolded himself from the floor and tried not to look like he was pouting at his offspring's defection. "Wouldn't want to have to eat melted ice cream, would we?" She tousled Isabelle's blonde curls and followed after the twins, John right behind them.

Molly lingered for a moment, placing a hand on Sherlock's arm. "They were fine, honestly," she said softly, knowing he too needed some reassurance that the jabs hadn't been the end of the world. "They know it's to keep them healthy and safe - and so do you, so don't even try to protest that they don't need them!"

His mouth, which had opened to say something very much along those lines, snapped shut, and he merely sighed. Noisily. "Right," Molly said crisply, tiptoeing up to give him a proper peck on the lips. "Let's get to that cake and ice cream, shall we? I'm sure Mycroft won't be able to resist joining us," she added with a sly grin. "Not if the twins insist on feeding him as they did last time!"

Sherlock's eyes lit up, and he pulled his mobile from his pocket. "Yes," he said gleefully as he dropped one arm around Molly's shoulder. "I do need another set of photos to add to my collection!"

With a small laugh and shake of her head, Molly let him pull her into the sitting room. Life with this family was certainly never dull, even when it involved the most ordinary of tasks.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

 


End file.
